


Broken Routine

by Mx_Poogie



Series: Inquisitor Felix Fraldarius [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Felix is the Inquisitor okay, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mentioned Glenn Fraldarius, Mentioned Sylvain Jose Gautier, Mild Gore, My brain just couldn't let this AU/crossover rest, Nightmares, Pre-Relationship, Vomiting, past Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28915344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Poogie/pseuds/Mx_Poogie
Summary: Felix has a nightmare and he discovers that the Iron Bull is surprisingly easy to talk to.An Inquisition/Three Houses crossover. If you're only familiar with Inquisition and know nothing about Three Houses, worry not - for your purposes, Felix is essentially just male Trevelyan. If you're the other way around, this one may be a bit harder to understand, but hey - you can always give it a go anyway!
Series: Inquisitor Felix Fraldarius [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120718
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Broken Routine

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially Dragon Age: Inquisition with a flavoring of Fire Emblem: Three Houses, so like I say in the summary, DA:I fans should understand this with no trouble, whereas Three Houses fans will only understand... Felix, basically. But don't let it stop you! 
> 
> I'm expecting this to become a series of one-shots; I already have ideas for some other scenes.

Felix is in his room in Haven, going through his daily sword stance routine. The thick carpet beneath his bare feet is grounding, the fresh and, frankly, freezing mountain air flowing in through the open window is energizing. The familiar movements blend into each other like a slow dance of sorts, one he recalls with perfect clarity even in his sleep, one that never fails to calm his racing mind or anxious nerves.

Suddenly, he’s pulled out of his half-trance by the too-familiar sound of a fade rift crackling - right behind his back.

He spins around, and when he takes in what is in front of him, a strange falling sensation takes over. His feet, though - someone has chained them to the floor, and Felix is unable to move them an inch.

”Sylvain,” he whispers, voice hoarse, horrified. It is unmistakably him standing before Felix’s eyes. His unruly red hair is pointing in every direction, as it would do after a long night’s sleep; his tall figure throws a clear shadow across the room in the morning sun streaming in through the windows; his brown, warm, friendly eyes meet Felix’s without fail. Felix’s heart speeds up, as if he were in the middle of battle, the enemy’s sword pointed at his throat.

”Felix,” Sylvain answers, but his voice comes out mangled and wrong, like a poor imitation spoken from behind a closed door, or maybe like a whisper in an echoing cave. His eyes are suddenly so unbearably sad that it makes Felix’s heart clench painfully. ”Felix,” this Sylvain repeats, and takes a step towards Felix. His movement is off as well; it’s almost like he’s floating instead of walking.

”What do you want?” Felix whispers, voice thick, a burning in his eyes. He blinks furiously. 

Sylvain, now standing very close to Felix, lifts a hand and cups Felix’s cheek. ”Felix,” he repeats again, tilting his head, and with a start Felix notices that Sylvain’s cheeks are wet with tears. He wants to bring up his own hand, to touch Sylvain, but he cannot move his arms or hands any more than his legs. ”I’m so sorry,” he says instead. His breath stutters. ”I should never have asked you to -” 

Felix sees Sylvain opening his mouth, ready to say his name again, but before that can happen, a sickly green glow illuminates his face. Felix looks down and to his horror there’s a fade rift opening right in the middle of Sylvain’s chest. He realizes that it’s being controlled by his own hand, which now raises itself without Felix’s permission, his fingers flexing around the mark in his palm.

”No,” he whispers, still unable to do anything but stand still and watch. Sylvain’s mouth opens in a completely silent scream, and his expression speaks of inhuman agony. He doesn’t break eye contact with Felix as the rift slowly spreads at the command of Felix’s hand, first taking over his chest, then crawling up his neck and onto his face.

For a few seconds there’s only Felix’s own shaky breathing and the pounding of his heart. Then, the eerie booming and crackling of the Fade being manipulated fills his ears, deafening him to any other sounds, and a familiar twinge travels up his arm. The rift stretches wider, mutilating Sylvain’s form to something unrecognizable and demonic, before it snaps shut in the blink of an eye, and Sylvain explodes, his blood spraying all over Felix’s face and body.

Felix shoots up in his bedroll, heart pounding, breath wheezing. For a disorienting second he’s unsure if what he just saw really happened and if he’d fainted and been taken to the infirmary before he manages to identify that no, it was a dream and he’s in his tent, on a mission with his team, and that it’s likely the middle of the night. The tunic and pants that he wears under his armor and to bed are drenched with sweat, clinging to his skin. He shivers. Sweat, and not Sylvain’s hot, sticky blood -

He scrambles out of the tent and makes it to the edge of the small clearing they’d made their camp at just in time to violently throw up his supper. He retches and dry-heaves a couple of times before he dares to spit and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Head spinning, eyes closed he leans against a tree and tries to stop the shivers racking his body, tries to erase the image of Sylvain’s grief-filled eyes, tainted by the ugly green glow, tries to catch his wheezing breath. He curls his left hand into a white-knuckled fist - it’s tingling uncomfortably.

It hasn’t been quite this bad for a while now. So much for hoping that his dreams would have stopped.

He stumbles back towards their tents. The Iron Bull has the watch, and Felix can feel his heavy gaze on him like a physical thing. Too agitated to even think about going back to bed, he instead drops down next to the fire, wishing for it to burn away the remnants of his dream with light and heat. Wordlessly the Iron Bull gets up to throw a blanket over Felix’s shoulders, accompanied by a light, steadying clap on the back, and hand him a waterskin, before sitting back down on the other side of the campfire.

Felix flushes his mouth and grimaces. Compulsively, he clenches and relaxes his hand, wanting the uncomfortable sensation from the dream gone. He still feels wild, and he could swear…

”Bull,” he croaks out, rubbing the other hand over his face.

”Yeah, boss?”

He swallows. It’s a stupid question, and asking it feels mortifying, but - ”There’s no - no blood on me. Right?”

”Nope. No blood.” He’s not laughing at Felix; his tone is even and calm, as is his gaze. Like Felix doesn’t sound completely insane. 

Huh. Fine.

Felix shudders. Tries to keep his voice even. ”Just… thought to make sure.”

They sit in silence for a time. Felix lets the sounds of the forest wash over him and does his best to only concentrate on them - branches creaking, wind whispering in the treetops, the firewood crackling and whistling quietly. An owl hooting somewhere far away. The stream just behind a group of trees bubbling away. It cannot quite drown out the still somewhat erratic beat of his heart, but it does help a little bit. He focuses on taking deep, steady breaths, and the nausea rolling in his stomach begins to ease up. He's fine. It was a dream.

The Iron Bull eventually breaks the quiet. ”Listen, boss,” he says, and Felix lifts his head to look at him instead of the flames, ”I know you’re not exactly a talkative guy, but hey - just sayin’ - you wanna talk about it, I’ll listen.”

Felix hums noncommittally and turns his gaze back toward the flames. It's an unexpected offer, since he's been keeping everyone at arm's length to the best of his ability, and as far as he can tell, at least some of his companions feel offended by that.The Iron Bull, apparently, does not, which Felix can't help but appreciate. Besides that, he’s not sure where or how to begin, or if he even wants to. But the words are so very much like something Sylvain could have said that, even though it makes his chest ache, he finds that he actually wants to say something. Anything, really. Loathe as Felix is to admit it even to himself, he’s been feeling increasingly lonely. Maybe it’s alright to let himself relax a little, at least around some of his companions? 

Sylvain would fucking make sure he did. Just the thought makes Felix want to roll his eyes at the man, and he sighs.

The Iron Bull seems like a patient enough man, so Felix allows himself to take a few moments, to make sure he wants to do this.

”I wasn’t always like this, you know,” he begins, voice low and slightly scratchy, after a moment of deliberation. ”Used to talk so much that it was annoying, or so I was told.” The memory of Glenn’s exasperated voice almost makes him smile. It warms his shivering soul ever so slightly, even if it’s tinted with the same hint of cold grief it always has been.

”Huh. What changed?”

The Iron Bull manages to sound just casual and disinterested enough that it doesn’t make Felix want to stop. He sighs. Shrugs and adjusts the blanket, wrapping it around himself more tightly. Steals another glance at Bull.

”I mostly talked to my brother. Incessantly, as he would’ve put it.” Felix huffs. ”Then he went and got himself killed.” Maker, it never seems to get less awkward to say it out loud.

”Hmm. Sorry to hear that.”

”It was seven years ago, now. It’s fine.” Mostly. Comparatively speaking, at least.

”You dream about him tonight, then?”

Felix shakes his head and lets his bangs fall to cover more of his face. It’s mostly an accident, but suits him fine just then. ”Someone else.” His next exhale is audibly shaky, and he has no doubt that Qunari hearing can catch it over the sounds of the fire. Bull says nothing about it. ”He died… more recently.”

”A friend of yours?”

”Since childhood.” And so much more than that. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded.

”Hmm. Sucks.”

Felix barks a humorless laugh at the simple statement. ”Indeed.”

”What was he like, this friend?” The Iron Bull asks before Felix has the chance to get sucked back into his head.

The question has Felix frowning and pursing his lips. He hasn’t ever really had to describe Sylvain to anyone before, and ever since he died, Felix has actively tried to avoid thinking about him. His mind reels a little at the sudden invitation to remember. 

Felix clicks his tongue. ”He was… a damned fool.” Better start with the defining characteristics, huh? He can almost feel Sylvain punching him playfully in the shoulder, pretending be offended. ”Annoyingly tall.” Felix glances at Bull. ”For a human, at least. Good with horses, unlike me.” The Iron Bull chuckles, no doubt recalling all the times he’s witnessed horses expressing their near instinctual dislike towards the illustrious figurehead of the Inquisition. Felix offers a crooked smile and scratches the back of his head. Considers. ”He used to be an incorrigible skirt-chaser, and that always got him into trouble when he was younger. I... He toned it down a lot, which was...good." Felix fights a blush, and a horrible stab at his heart, so he hurries forward. "I'm... He’d never draw attention to it but... he was always looking out for and after others, forgetting himself, sometimes deliberately.” He sighs and shakes his head. ”And I always had to force him to spar, or he never would have practiced, the idiot. But he was decent with a lance regardless.”

Felix falls quiet again because now he’s blinking away tears. ”Can’t think of more to say right now,” he grits out, voice horrifyingly watery. Maker, maybe he should've just kept his mouth shut.

”Hey, that’s alright, boss. Thanks for sharing.” The Iron Bull’s eye is gentle in the dancing firelight, the tone of his voice easy. ”It sucks to lose people, but it’s good to talk about them now and again. Ones who deserve to be remembered, anyway.”

Another shaky exhale leaves Felix's lungs and he clears his throat. ”I suppose it is.”

He wants to run for the hills, or to his tent, but the thought of sleep is unbearable.

”You know, it just so happens that what you say about your friend reminds me of someone I used to know. Mind if I tell you about them?”

An achy warmth wraps around Felix’s heart. He can recognize an offer of distraction when faced with one. Maybe tonight won’t be horrible as he’d feared. He wipes his eyes as discreetly as he can under the circumstances (so, not very) and takes a better position; it may yet become a long night, but at least he’s got company this time. 

”Let’s hear it.”


End file.
